


Mirror

by SkinSlave



Series: Tijuana Bible Study [5]
Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Cybersex, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Self-cest, Timeline What Timeline, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Webcams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 12:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17704184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: Exhibitionism with Brian Warner(Timeline intersection AU, early 1990s and post-2017, slash, selfcest, cam show, cybersex, mutual masturbation)





	Mirror

Seven years' bad luck notwithstanding, the broken mirror shouldn't have been a big deal. Brian complained about it when he moved in, after all. It was huge and permenantly affixed to the bedroom wall, a gaudy vintage ornament. Why, then, was he upset that the landlord decided not to replace it?

In some quiet part of himself, he knew why. He missed his reflection, the illusion of being watched while he wrote or practiced the guitar or did... other things. He could never admit to anyone that it opened something in him and gave him the confidence and intensity he dreamed of.

He stared at the empty space on the wall for two days before the idea hit him. After a quick trip to the mall, and several awkward moments with a store clerk half his size, he returned with a mid-range webcam. Setup was fairly easy and soon he could see himself on the screen.

With his audience back, Brian rediscovered his spark. He let his long black hair fall over his face as he wrote songs. His tongue found his lip ring and moved it seductively at just the right moments. He bent and arched, sucked his stomach in to accentuate his ribs, stretched his long legs out. It would be good, he reasoned, to get in the habit of doing those things before the band took off and he needed to do them on stage.

But there was no reason for his after-hours performances, spread-eagle on his bed, writhing and presenting to no one in particular. No reason beyond the surging electricity, the power of being exposed and seen. The experience was addictive and, like many drugs, it led to a desire for a stronger hit.

Soon he was logging onto anonymous chat services, sharing still photographs of his body. He learned a lot in a short span of time. He was, apparently, both "cougar bait" and a bit of a "twink." Both men and women would flock to compliment his lanky figure, piercing, tattoos and manhood. And, as it turned out, he enjoyed the attention no matter who gave it.

When Marilyn_69 sent him a private message, he pictured a blonde divorcée with a glass of sangria in her hand. As they talked, mostly about Brian's measurements and how he liked to pleasure himself, it became apparent that Marilyn was, in fact, a man. He offered his own stats and some wardrobe and style suggestions. Then he said the magic words.

> _Why don't you get on cam for me?_

Brian took a deep breath, his heart pounding, and clicked the button. Marilyn didn't reciprocate, but it didn't matter much. Brian had an image of him in mind: 25 years his senior but in good shape, short dark hair, full lips, intense hazel eyes, tattooed hands wrapped around a bulge the same size as Brian's.

The young man adjusted the camera, looking into the lens. His pale blue contact lenses were striking. Marilyn leaned back in his chair, a neat vodka in one hand, and smiled. He watched as Brian slowly peeled his t-shirt off, already putting on a show.

> _Hey there, gorgeous._

Brian tried not to smile and failed. With his incredible cheekbones and perfect pout, he was very pretty. The cam didn't pick up a blush, but Marilyn could feel it through the screen. After a few moments, he seemed to settle. A serious, smoldering expression changed his face.

> _I'm glad you like._

He leaned back and stretched, showing off his lithe shape. One hand lazily fell onto his side, tracing his ribs. He looked smug.

> _Oh, I definitely do._  
_> Are your nipples sensitive?_

Brian shrugged and his long fingers found one pink bud. He pursed his lips and rolled it between finger and thumb. Marilyn's breath hitched. He sipped his drink.

> _I think they'd look great pierced._  
_> I always wanted mine done._

The young man leaned toward the camera and dipped a finger between his lips. His tongue moved and his eyelids fluttered. It was so lewd. He arched, bringing his chest closer to the camera, and slicked his finger across his nipple. It glistened under the desk lamp.

While one hand played on his chest, alternating sides, the other landed in his lap. The teasing of his fingertips, and the thrill of being watched, critiqued, appreciated, had a decided effect. Brian was hard, achingly so. He pressed on the bulge in his jeans just a little. Marilyn noticed.

> _I know you're hard, baby._  
_> Back up and strip. _  
_> Show me._

Moving in those tight jeans and staying in frame was awkward. But Brian liked what he saw on the screen. He raised his hands behind his head and posed for a bit, hoping Marilyn liked it, too. Then he slowly, carefully, shed his pants like snake skin.

His dark blue boxer briefs didn't leave much to the imagination. He turned and spread, presenting his tight, boyish ass beneath the almost feminine curve of his waist. His long hair fell over his shoulder. It would've been so satisfying to wrap it around his fist and force him against the wall. Marilyn ground his teeth.

Finally, Brian stepped out of his underwear. He turned his face first, gazing almost demurely over his shoulder. He twisted at the waist, showcasing those ribs again. And, at last, his hips faced the camera. His cock was lovely, full and proud, jutting from pronounced hipbones. It was on the thick side of average but his slender frame made it seem more impressive.

> _Jesus, kid._  
_> What do you feed that thing?_

The flash on the screen brought Brian back to his seat. There was a brief glimpse of his length up-close, then a devilish smirk as he read the message. His tongue toyed with his lip ring in an infuriating way as he typed his reply.

> _Cheerleaders, mostly._

 _> That doesn't sound satisfying. _  
_> But maybe they're not the main course. _  
_> Do you leave the curtains open so someone like me can watch?_

There. His lips fell open and his shoulder flexed as he gripped his cock. As if Marilyn needed confirmation. He set his drink down and pulled his chair close to the desk. It was just the right height to meet his own hardness. He rocked his hips for pressure and friction, leaving his hands free to type.

> _Where do you fuck them, Brian?_  
_> In cars? _  
_> Parks? _  
_> Cemeteries? _  
_> On the fifty yard line? _  
_> Public restrooms? _  
_> I want to watch._

 _> Yes. _  
_> All of those._

He was typing slowly, one-handed, and Marilyn licked his lips. He could see a slow, steady undulation in his bicep. Brian's lids were getting heavy, those beautifully plastic blue eyes glossing over. He pushed his hair back from his face and touched his lips, obviously still playing to his audience.

> _Next time, I want you to tell me first._  
_> I'll be there. _  
_> As close as I can get. _  
_> You can put on a show for me._

Brian nodded. He seemed a little foggy, empty-headed. He was utterly focused on this new fantasy.

> _Move the camera._  
_> Show me._

The screen blurred and went dark for a moment. Then, there it was, his delicious cock nearly bouncing against the lens. Brian made a few adjustments to get the whole thing into frame. It was pink and throbbing. His long fingers closed around it. Marilyn rocked in time with his stroke.

> _That's it, baby._  
_> Let me see it. _  
_> I can't wait to see it in person._

Brian leaned forward a little, keeping his hand next to his cock, and spit into his palm. The long thread stretched and broke. He spread it over the head and resumed long, slow strokes. He pictured Marilyn, jerking off to his body, and sparks flew behind his eyes.

> _Can you feel me in the room, kid?_  
_> You have my attention. _  
_> Tell me how good it feels._

The chat didn't support audio, but that didn't matter. Brian was deep in the fantasy. He started to moan out loud. His pace quickened. His other hand rubbed his inner thigh and fondled his tightening balls.

> _That's it._  
_> Can't wait to see you in action. _  
_> Fucking some girl where you're bound to get caught. _  
_> How many other people have seen you? _  
_> From now on, I'm watching every time. _  
_> You're going to perform for me. _  
_> Good boy. _  
_> Are you getting close? _  
_> I want to see you cum._

Brian nodded frantically, certain that Marilyn could see it somehow. Under his own gasps and moans, he thought he could hear the man breathing, the slick of his pleasure. Marilyn wanted him, wanted his body. He was tense and hot.

> _I'm close, babe._  
_> I want to watch you first._

Brian's thighs trembled and his knuckles went white. His hand stopped for an agonizing moment. Then a flood of cum erupted over his fingers. He resumed his stroke, pulling wave after wave. It splattered onto his taut, pale stomach.

Marilyn leaned into the desk and groaned his own release. He bit his lower lip and jerked his hips, riding it out. He would regret staining his leather pants later. For now there was only the screen in front of him, Brian's fingers lazily rubbing at his mess, and the stinging bliss of his orgasm.

Panting, Marilyn put his shaking hands back on the keyboard.

> _You're perfect, kid._  
_> I came so hard. _  
_> What are you doing tomorrow?_

The camera moved again and Brian's face came back into view. He was flushed and smiling.

> _Work, maybe._  
_> They offered to let me interview this guy. _  
_> I like his music. _  
_> I've been thinking of blowing it off, though. _  
_> It's not like it matters. _  
_> Once my band gets a little more momentum I won't need this job._

 _> No. _  
_> You should do it._

Brian's nose scrunched a little. It was adorable. He bit his lip ring.

> _I'm_ _serious._  
_> Reznor's the kind of friend you want to make._

Brian's mouth became stern. He knit his brow.

> _How did you know that's who it is?_

_> It's written on your notebook, on the bed behind you._

He turned in his chair to see the notebook open on the sheets. Slowly, he turned back to the screen.

> _You can see that?_

_> I see everything, kid._

Marilyn's phone chirped. He sipped his drink and checked the reminder. Live performance in a few hours. He needed to clean up and get ready.

 _> So are you going to do it? _  
_> The interview?_

Brian sighed and smiled softly.

_> Yeah, I guess so._

Marilyn grinned.

_> Good_ _boy._


End file.
